Her breath hitched when his lips met hers for the second time. This isn't right… but it had been so long since anyone touched her kindly. She didn't pull away, fingers clutching the frayed edge of her worn kimono.
"Y-you're… very forward," she stammered when he drew back, her face flushed. The sake's heat coiled in her belly, mingling with something unfamiliar. His thumb brushed softly across her lower lip, and she shivered.
"I—I should… clean up the dishes first—"
"Leave them." His voice was low, leaving no room for protest. His hands slid to her waist, tugging her closer across the straw mat.
He smells like iron… and pine, she thought, dizzy as he guided her down. The thatch roof blurred above her while his weight settled over her.
"You're trembling," he murmured against her neck.
"N-no, I'm not—"
"Liar." His teeth grazed her collarbone, drawing a gasp from her lips. The last rational thought fled when his hand slipped beneath her ragged skirt.
Her chest tightened, eyes flashing with shock. Father would be ashamed… Yet still, she didn't push him away as his hand trailed higher along her inner thigh.
"P-please… go slow…"
Ranmaru smiled faintly, surprised she hadn't resisted. "I'll be gentle… Chiyo-chan."
He's so warm… When was the last time someone held me like this? Her breath came in shallow gasps as his fingers traced higher. "W-wait… the neighbors might hear—"
His lips silenced her. "Nobody cares about peasant girls in this village," he murmured against her mouth. His calloused hands were rough, yet his touch was careful, almost tender. Why is he being so… gentle?
"Have you… done this before?" she whispered, clutching his sleeve.
Ranmaru chuckled darkly. "Not with someone like you." His thumb circled her hipbone. "You're shaking worse than a leaf in a storm."
"I'm c-cold," she lied, face burning.
"Then let me warm you." His teeth nipped her earlobe. "Tell me to stop anytime."
I should… I really should… But her body arched toward him instead. "J-just… don't leave after," she blurted, immediately regretting her neediness.
Her voice dripped with raw emotion, and it made him pause. Her eyes watered, and her legs trembled beneath him—not with arousal, but with the fear of opening up only to be abandoned.
He sighed and pulled back. "…I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't do this to you."
He's stopping? Why? Her hands tightened on his sleeves. "N-no, it's alright… I want—"
"You don't." His voice was firm, though his thumb still brushed away her tear. "You're scared. I can feel it."
"I'm not!" She bit her lip too late—the lie trembling in her breath.
Ranmaru sat up fully, pulling her ragged kimono back over her thighs. "You deserve more than a drunk hunter's pity."
Pity? Is that all this was? Her chest ached.
He staggered to his feet, legs unsteady from too much sake. "What the fuck am I doing?" he thought bitterly, fumbling at his coin bag. He pulled out two slim silver bars.
"These should be enough for you to stand on your feet for a while," he murmured, voice heavy. "I'm… I'm sorry. Once again." He set the silver down, unable to meet her eyes.
Then he put on his cloak and boots.
She lingered, clutching her kimono, knuckles white. The firelight made her eyes shine, though not with joy. She was silent as he rose, adjusting the armor that gleamed faintly beneath his worn cloak.
When he turned to leave, her breath caught. "Wait," she said, her voice trembling like a string plucked too hard.
He paused, sake still burning in his throat, and glanced back.
"I don't… I don't want the silver," she blurted. The words came raw, as if torn from her chest. "I don't need horses, or a house, or jewels. I just…" Her lips trembled. "I just need someone.
The hunters laughed beyond the walls, the crackle of fire masking her plea from the world—but not from him. She stepped forward, small hands clutching the edges of his cloak as if to tether him. "Even if you can't stay here—just come back. Tell me you'll come back. Tell me I'll see you again."
Ranmaru looked down at her hand, pale and shaking against the rough weave of the cloth. The weight of her need pressed harder than the silver in his satchel, harder than the steel at his hip.
For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes shifted to the grunts pawing at the servant girls, to the smoke rising like ghosts, and to the thin blue glimmer pulsing in his.
Her words were a wound he could not cut cleanly.
"I'll come back," he promised gruffly, voice rough. "I'll find a way."
Chiyo's eyes shone with unshed tears, relief and longing warring on her face. She nodded, once, twice, anchoring the promise to reality.
Ranmaru hesitated, then stepped back. He needed distance before he gave in entirely.
"Until then," he said quietly over his shoulder, turning to leave.
He paused at the door, looking back at her. The firelight danced across her features, making them seem almost ethereal. Her gaze was fixed on him, a silent plea hanging between them.
Her fingers unclenched from his cloak slowly. "You'll really come back?"
The silver bars glinted on the floor between them. She kicked them aside with her bare foot. "I don't want money. Just… don't lie to me."
The fire popped, casting shadows across Ranmaru's scarred face. She studied his expression—the tightness around his eyes, the way his jaw worked. He means it. But for how long?
"You better remember," she said, voice steadier now. "Chiyo. From the crooked house with the leaky roof." A weak laugh escaped her. "Even if you forget the way, just follow the smell of burnt rice."
Her arms wrapped around herself as the draft crept in. "Go on then. Before I start believing in things I shouldn't."
The door clicked shut behind him. She stared at it for three full breaths before whispering to the empty room: "Idiot hunter… You forgot your sake cup."